


Links: Letters II

by CyberMum, fmlyhntr, jamelia116, juli17ptf, monkee, Penny_P, Rocky_T, Voyager_Virtual Season_7-5_Staff_Writers (jamelia116)



Series: Voyager Virtual Season 7.5 [14]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 08:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberMum/pseuds/CyberMum, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmlyhntr/pseuds/fmlyhntr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/jamelia116, https://archiveofourown.org/users/juli17ptf/pseuds/juli17ptf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkee/pseuds/monkee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penny_P/pseuds/Penny_P, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocky_T/pseuds/Rocky_T, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamelia116/pseuds/Voyager_Virtual%20Season_7-5_Staff_Writers
Summary: "Links: Letters II" edited and written by Cybermum and the writing staff of VS 7.5. Letters from home are precious when they're chatty and full of news from family and friends--but a few may turn out to be a bit harder for the recipient to accept.





	1. Prologue

**Episode 14**  
Links: Letters II   
Compiled and Edited by: CyberMum  
Written by the Voyager Season 7.5 Writing Staff   
  
Stardate: 54685.9  
  
"So, Harry?" Tom Paris turned and grinned at his friend as they made their way  
towards the mess hall. Their shift had finished five minutes earlier, and B'Elanna  
had promised to meet them there as soon as she was able to leave  
engineering.  
  
"What?" Harry Kim feigned innocence. He knew exactly what Tom was asking, but he  
was going to give his friend the satisfaction of a quick or easy response.  
"Come on, Harry. You know what."  
  
"I do? Oh yes - you want to know if I reprogrammed the Captain Proton simulation  
so that B'Elanna can play the part of Saber Tooth Sal instead of your trusty secretary  
Constance Goodheart. I think she'll be much happier now that she'll be saving your  
butt rather than handing you your pistol and telling you to be careful."  
  
"Come on Harry..."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. I fixed your Olympics simulation too. You really had some of those  
measurements wrong. Even a Nausicaan couldn't have managed your long jump.  
And you would have needed two Orcans to cover the water polo net."  
  
"Har..."  
  
"And I had coffee with Marla last night. We had a nice time. She's very nice."  
  
"And...?"  
  
"And that's all I'm going to say, Tom. Hi B'Elanna." Harry greeted his friend  
with a smile. "How was your shift?"  
  
"Not too bad actually. I managed to figure out where the short in the coil  
scanner was and reroute the field coils around it without compromising the  
magnetic seals.  
  
The three of them threaded their way through the mess hall and found a table  
towards the back.  
  
"Mr. Kim!" Neelix bustled his way over just as they had settled themselves into  
their seats. "Lieutenants Paris." Torres raised an eyebrow at the Talaxian's  
greeting, but decided to ignore it.  
  
"Hi Neelix, what's for lunch?" Harry asked quickly.  
  
"Mr. Kim the newest datastream transmissions are starting to come in. Megan  
Delaney just hailed me. We've got to go pick them up."  
  
"Isn't it a bit early?" Tom asked.  
  
"No, it isn't Tom." B'Elanna replied. "I think we've had such a lot going on recently  
that the time slipped away faster than we realized. They're on time."  
  
Harry stood up. "I'll see you later guys -- maybe I'll have something for you. Let's  
go Neelix."  
  
But Neelix was already on his way out of the mess hall.   
  
\--  



	2. Letters to Harry Kim and Tuvok

\--  
  
They arrived in Astrometrics together.  
  
"We're here Megan. What have you got for us this month?" Neelix' enthusiasm  
was contagious. Both he and Harry relished this particular duty. Delivering the  
letters from home to Voyager's crew had fallen under their jurisdiction over the  
past year. Neelix' participation in this activity was natural - after all, he was  
the ship's morale officer, and what could be more of a morale boost than  
communication from friends and family in the Alpha Quadrant? As for Harry, he  
wasn't quite sure how his involvement in the monthly ritual had evolved, but  
there was no way he would ever give the job up at this point.  
  
"I'm still decrypting." Megan's fingers flew over her console. "The stream seems  
to be fluctuating. I'm going to have to compensate."  
  
Harry and Neelix watched as the young woman carefully adjusted her calculations  
to account for the variations in the carrier wave. She paused, took a PADD  
from a tall pile of them by her side, inserted it into a slot in her console, and  
activated the download procedure.  
  
"Here's the first one." Megan withdrew the PADD from the slot and examined it  
quickly. "It's for you sir." She said, and handed it to Harry.  
  
Harry looked at it in surprise. "It's from my Mom. I'll... um...I'll read it later." He  
slipped the PADD into one of the pouches that he and Neelix had picked up on their  
way to Astrometrics and slung the pouch over his shoulder. His mailbag, Tom called it.  
  
Megan inserted a second PADD into the console and began the download procedure  
again. There was a moment of silence.  
  
"I'm afraid there's been an interruption in the datastream. I believe the  
interference and the fluctuations are being caused by..." She turned and pointed  
to the large display screen that took up one entire side of the Astrometrics lab,  
"by that gaseous nebula. It seems to be emitting electrical charges that disrupt  
the smooth flow of data." Megan turned again, this time to a smaller display  
screen on the wall behind him, "I believe we will be clear of the nebula...in about...  
fourteen minutes."  
  
Neelix looked at Harry and grinned. "Go ahead, Lieutenant," He said. "Read your  
letter. There's no reason not to, especially since we're just waiting around now!"  
  
Harry reached into the pouch that he had slung over his shoulder and fingered  
the PADD that he had dropped into it a few moments earlier. "I... okay." He said.  
"Why not?"   
  
\---  
To: Harry Kim, Lieutenant/USS Voyager  
Via: Project Pathfinder  
From: Mrs. John Kim/Section 001/Earth/San Francisco  
Stardate: 54645.2  
  
Harry Dear,  
  
Or should I address you as Lieutenant? It has such a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Lieutenant Harry Kim. Your father and I are so proud of you, Harry. We know how hard you work on Voyager, and how important your work is. I'm glad that your captain has recognized and rewarded you for your contributions. Do you know she wrote us a letter of congratulations on your promotion? She mentioned that you have been on several away missions recently and have performed 'admirably'. She sounds like such a nice woman.  
  
Last night your Father and I listened again to the recording you sent of your latest musical composition. It is very good son. A bit slow in places, perhaps, but very enjoyable nonetheless. I have made a copy of it and sent it to Professor Traibut at Julliard. He asked after you at the last meeting of the Alumni Association and I told him you were still playing your clarinet. He was pleased to hear it, and sent his regards to you. Did you know that he is now conducting the Youth Symphony? Perhaps he can use your piece in a concert. You never know...  
  
We are all fine here. Last weekend we had a surprise visit from your Aunties Pearl and Opal. Do you remember them Harry? Your Grandmother Kim's twin baby sisters? They are eighty-three years old and still dress alike. Apparently they have been traveling quite frequently recently -- revisiting their childhood homes, and staying with relatives along the way. They didn't give us much warning -- called on Thursday, arrived on Saturday morning. Luckily your Auntie Soni had warned me they were coming and I was able to prepare an appropriate dinner for them. They are sticklers for the old ways.  
  
Your cousin Mila has been accepted into Star Fleet Academy. As you can imagine, your Aunt and Uncle are extremely proud of her -- just as we were of you when you received your acceptance. Mila has been here several times recently, asking about you and your experiences at the Academy. I showed her a copy of the article you wrote for the school newspaper -- the one about the Maquis. I had it laminated several years ago and hung it over the desk in your room. I didn't think you'd mind. Just think -- you were so worried about the Maquis problem then, and now you are working with some of them.  
  
In your last letter you mentioned someone named Marla. I haven't heard this name before. Do you work with her? Where is she from? Is she married or attached in some way? I ask these questions so that I can know more about what you do, how you live and spend your time on Voyager.  
  
How are your friends Tom and B'Elanna? She must be nearing her time. Wish her luck from me. I look forward to meeting them and all your Voyager friends when you arrive home. This Pathfinder Project has raised our hopes enormously, Harry, and we feel in our hearts that we will see you soon.  
  
I must close now as your Auntie Lisa and I have a date with your cousin Tanya for tea at the Green Dragon Café. We have to decide who is going to host this year's New Year's celebration. It's actually your Auntie's turn, but with Uncle Phil away on an extended deep space mission, and Auntie Clare being out of sorts, it might just fall to me. I don't know how I'm going to tell your father... well, never mind Harry, I'll just work it out myself.  
  
My love to you son. Be well, and be very careful on those away missions.  
  
Mom   
  
\--  
  
"They're coming through now, Lieutenant." Megan re-inserted the blank PADD  
into the slot in her console, waited for a moment, and removed it with a slight  
flourish. "Here's the next one."  
  
Harry hastily shoved his own letter into the bottom of his mail pouch and took  
the proffered PADD. He read the heading and handed it to Neelix. "This one's  
for Tuvok. He's on your route, isn't he?"  
  
"He is indeed." Neelix replied. "He's at the top of my list. Is your mother well,  
Harry?"  
  
"She's just fine, Neelix. She's just the same as she's always been." Harry  
couldn't quite suppress a sigh. "Just the same. But I miss her anyhow."  
  
"And here's the next one..." Megan Delaney reclaimed their attention as the  
rest of the letters began to arrive via the data stream.   
  
\--  
  
Tuvok studied the delicate bloom carefully. The pale violet orchid had been  
grafted onto the new rootstock only a day earlier. Although it was still too early  
to say definitively, he decided it was showing signs of adapting and should soon  
be thriving in its new environment. He slowly added the nutrient solution to the  
soil and worked it in, taking care not to unduly disturb the fragile rhizomes.  
  
The door signal sounded. "Enter," he said, and crossed over to the sink to wash  
his hands. In the reflective wall surface he noted his visitor. "Yes, Mr. Neelix,  
what may I do for you?"  
  
"Mail call," the Talaxian said cheerfully. He waited until Tuvok had finished drying  
his hands before holding out the PADD. "I believe it's from your wife T'Pel."  
  
"Indeed it is," Tuvok said, quickly perusing the first few lines. Although he  
did not lack for patience and did not feel the need to immediately read his  
letter, he knew from experience that the simple act of delivering mail and  
watching the reactions of the recipients netted Neelix as much satisfaction, if  
not more so, as the recipients of the letters themselves. And despite the fact  
that he would never openly admit to doing so, Tuvok made sure each month that  
he permitted Neelix this singular pleasure.  
  
"How is she? Family all well?" asked Neelix.  
  
"So it appears from her opening statements. She sends her regards."  
  
"Really?" If Neelix had been smiling before, now he was positively beaming. He  
quickly recollected himself. "Well, I have a number of other deliveries to make.  
Enjoy your letter from 'Mrs. Vulcan.'"  
  
"I shall certainly endeavor to do so," Tuvok responded and tried not to think  
how his wife would react to her new title. Then again, perhaps she would  
consider it eminently logical.  
  
Alone once more, he settled back with a cup of steaming spice tea, picked up the  
PADD and began to read.  
  
  
From: T'Pel cha'Selev  
Sector 001; Vulcan; ShiKahr  
To: Lieutenant Commander Tuvok,  
Chief of Security, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656  
Pathfinder Project  
Stardate: 54649.8  
  
Greetings, my husband,  
  
I trust that this missive finds you in good health and that you are completely recovered from the injuries you received during your recent battle with the Borg Collective. Yes, I do find it curious, as you remarked, that Mr. Neelix showed up at the torpedo launch bay, particularly as he had no way of knowing in advance that you did indeed require his assistance. A fortuitous coincidence, perhaps, but I think you are too quick to dismiss another possible explanation of the events. Having never studied with the masters of the temple of Amonak, perhaps my knowledge of these matters is less than yours. However, it occurs to me that the link between the two of you, from the time you were combined into the single entity Tuvix, has been maintained. Perhaps it is only noticeable during extreme circumstances.  
  
Regardless of the reason, I am grateful that he was present and able to convey you to safety. As the Humans are fond of saying, please express to him my regards.  
  
Our family members are all well. As you doubtless expected, our granddaughter T'Meni's _kahs-wan_ was successfully completed. The Examiner agreed that she showed remarkable foresight and endurance in one so young. The child has always been slender and looked far younger than her years, but it did not have an adverse effect upon her either from a physical or mental standpoint.  
  
Sapock, the son of Skon, your friend Stelen's eldest, is of the same age as T'Meni and completed the ordeal at the same time. I suppose it may have been chance, or the long-standing amitas between our two families, but Stelen has inquired informally as to the possibility of a bonding between our grandchildren. They are of the proper age to consider a betrothal; I have always felt the old custom of bonding shortly after the _kahs-wan_ is preferable to waiting until the children have reached the Time of _pon farr_. There are enough issues to deal with then; far better for them to learn about the bond when it can be contemplated rationally. It also removes some of the uncertainty of one's Time to already be familiar with one's bondmate. I suspect that T'Meni has already given thought to the next stage of a young Vulcan girl's life, and this will not come to her as a completely unexpected development. The two children are well acquainted with each other; I am not incorrect in assuming that T'Meni herself has written to you about Sapock, as they have 'crossed _lirpas'_ on numerous occasions.  
  
I can see your eyebrow rise from here, my husband, and sense your question: but if the child appears to dislike the boy, surely another would be more suitable. Indeed, Sek asked the same thing, which leads me to wonder how well he knows or understands his own daughter. The very fact that T'Meni treats Sapock almost as if he were beneath her notice makes me suspect that she thinks of him a good deal and not always disparagingly. Asil was present during one of T'Meni's most recent visits and commented to me afterwards that she found too many references to the boy during the course of the conversation for there to be simply a casual interest on T'Meni's part. Our daughter is an astute judge of character, as you yourself have frequently noted in the past.  
  
Therefore, if you do not have any objections, I will inform Stelen that we look favorably on this new tie between our families. As to when the bonding ceremony should be held -- rumors abound that Voyager's return will be much sooner than previously looked-for. In fact, we have been told informally by one of the Pathfinder scientists that there is a possibility that the ship may return within the next few months. You are in a better position to know if this is founded in fact or merely a product of wishful thinking. It would be most gratifying for your return to be early, and T'Meni would be most appreciative if her grandfather could be present at her bonding ceremony. I will hold off in making any further plans until I have your answer, or more information becomes available on this end.  
  
Live long and prosper.  
  
Your wife,  
  
T'Pel  
  
  
A postscript: Shortly before this letter was to be sent off, an unfortunate event transpired. Your father Sunak passed away, not before his time. He was not ill with a specific malady, but had been slowly 'fading' for some time. Your mother stated that he had consulted several Healers during the past six months, and each one said there was nothing to be done. I grieve with thee, Tuvok, and your mother T'Meni as well. Sunak was in good spirits at the end. Our sons and I were present at his bedside, and he told me he felt he had accomplished what he wished in this life. His only regret was being unable to see you again. His _katra_ has already been released into the Hall of Adepts. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, we will take his ashes to the Forge and scatter them on the plains of Gol as per his final wishes.   
  
  
Tuvok closed his eyes. He thought of the gentle presence that was his father, and  
found some measure of comfort that his end was so peaceful. _Not before his_  
time. He turned back to the section of T'Pel's letter that dealt with his  
granddaughter's betrothal. It was time to concentrate on the next generation,  
the new links being forged in the chain.   
  
  
*^*^*^*^   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Mrs. Kim to her son Harry--CyberMum
> 
> From T'Pel to her husband Tuvok--Rocky_T


	3. To Kathryn Janeway and The Doctor

*^*^*^*^   
  
To: Janeway, Kathryn M., Capt./C.O./USS Voyager   
Via: Project Pathfinder   
From: Thev, Daeja, Cmdr./JAG/StftAcdy/Section 001/Earth/San Francisco   
Stardate: 54652.3   
  
_Narejah_ , Kathryn!   
  
What a surprise your letter was! Of course, I already knew that you are alive after all - simply on the other side of the galaxy -- but knowing the limitations on communications, I was astonished that you would use precious data space for a letter to your old roommate, especially considering our last conversation. I'm only sorry it has taken so long for me to reply, but as you can tell from the heading, I'm no longer on Andor, and your letter caught up with me only last week.   
  
Ah, our last conversation. I told you that you could take my pips and shove them "where the moon don't shine." (Great Hunter, but I love Human idiom -- so much more vivid than our rather direct Andorian phrases.) Well, I did resign and go home to teach for a while, but the Dominion War changed that. I couldn't sit at home when the Federation was under attack. Nothing we Andorians love more than a good fight, and the Jem H'dar were good fighters. The uniform fit better the second time, and I'm still here. So, I'm at the Academy now -- in the History Department, although this semester I also got stuck (another lovely idiom) with Introduction to Political Science for the plebes.   
  
I can hear you laughing now. Political Science! I haven't forgotten what you said when we were raw cadets and you found out you had to take that course. "How dare they call politics a science? It's all a game." You were right, you know. Politics is a game, but just like tennis and velocity, there is a real science behind it. You have to know the rules and the strategies to succeed. As I recall, you eventually earned a top grade in that class. Hope you don't need a refresher from me!   
  
You and your crew are quite the topic around HQ these days. Actually, I gather you have been for years. They tell me that when you first disappeared so mysteriously, speculation was rampant. There were those who wrote you off for dead, and those who thought you'd been hijacked and abducted by the Cardassians or the Romulans. There were even those who contended that you'd been recruited by the Maquis. Most of these were people who claimed to know you, although I do not think you would call them friend. As time passed, the talk faded; the fighting with the Klingons and then the Dominion War began, and everyone's attention shifted.  
  
Shifted. There's a revealing choice of words. Fighting shape-shifters is as much a matter of psychological warfare as it is physical combat. It erodes trust and creates paranoia. Shapeshifters infiltrated the Klingon High Council and the Admiralty, did you know that? A lot of civil liberties were suspended in the name of Federation security; blood tests to prove identity became routine, travel was restricted and even confidential mail was routinely screened by Intelligence. The war is over, and they assure us that things have more or less returned to normal, except that the mindset of suspicion and power are hard to shake. It seems our ability to trust the way we did before has been forever compromised. There are persistent rumors that surveillance continues.   
  
I can hear you again. What did _you_ think, Dae? -- I can hear you plainly. Were you one of those who thought I was dead, or did you think I'd joined the Maquis? Then you give that snort you reserve for topics that are too ridiculous even for laughter. But stop and think. The idea that you might be willing to join the Maquis was not entirely far-fetched. After all, your distrust of the Cardassians was well known, and you made it clear that your support for the Treaty was limited to the dictates of duty and no more. HQ is filled with people willing to see a conspiracy around every corner. I knew better. Oh, you might have decided to join the Maquis cause, but you would never have deserted to do so. You would have formally resigned your commission first -- Starfleet is bred in you too finely for anything else. So, even though it would have been comforting to think of you alive and raiding Cardassian supply depots, I was among those who believed you dead, because I could not imagine an enemy taking you without a fight. And I admit to you, that I was never happier to be proven wrong about something than when word came of Voyager's adventure in the Delta quadrant.   
  
Word around HQ now is that you've granted field commissions to all your Maquis crew and that you're pushing for confirmation of their rank. You surprise me. You were always so politically correct, the perfect Starfleet officer. There are still people in HQ who think of the Maquis as criminals. Not everyone, of course, but enough wearing four or more pips to make a good noise. (Ah. That's an Andorian idiom. Make of it what you will). Even those who don't want to punish them criminally don't trust them enough to welcome them back into our sacred brotherhood. Some of the Maquis who were captured during the War have been granted parole, but on the conditions that they do not seek reinstatement to Starfleet or pursue government office. A lot of them have returned to their home worlds to join the rebuilding efforts -- the peace agreement returned the Maquis worlds to the Federation -- but some have gone to Andor, where good fighters are always appreciated.   
  
The fate of your Equinox refugees is a little more certain. From what I hear, Ransom and his crew violated the Prime Directive, the Seldonis Convention, and Order 010, and Starfleet cannot sweep that under the floor. The carpet? No matter. Whenever Voyager returns to the Alpha Quadrant, they will face some formal action, possibly a full court-martial, no matter how exemplary their behavior under your command.   
  
I've got to go; there's a plebe waiting for his appointment; he seems to be constitutionally incapable of understanding the causes of the Axanar Conflict and thinks I may be able to provide a revelation. He's from someplace called Brooklyn and has an amazing ability to speak in colorful and obscure Terran idioms. "Tarred with the same brush" I understand (it's almost Andorian in its imagery) but "cooking your own goose" seems redundant to me. What else would you do with a goose?   
  
Always your friend,   
Daeja   
  
  
Janeway powered down the PADD and placed it carefully on her desk. She stood,   
picked up her rapidly cooling cup of coffee and took a quick sip. "So," she   
thought, as she made her way over to the sofa on the upper level of her ready   
room, "Dae is worried."   
  
She sat down and settled herself into a comfortable position, turning slightly   
sideways so that she was able to gaze through the portal at the shimmering stars   
slipping by into the velvet black of Delta Quadrant space.   
  
Daeja Thev was someone whose opinion Kathryn Janeway valued greatly. Dae had   
always been able to see things clearly -- sift through the grit -- she called it. They   
had had some wonderful debates during the year they shared quarters. And Kathryn   
had learned a lot from her. She had written to her in part because she knew that Dae   
kept her ears open (another succinct Andorian phrase); because although she still   
denied it vehemently, Dae Thev was at home and well versed in the machinations   
of the highest echelons of the Federation; and most importantly, because she   
missed her old friend -- her wit, her warmth and her canny insights into how to   
play those political games to which she had referred in her letter.   
  
Janeway had known from the beginning that she would not have an easy time of it   
once she got Voyager and her crew back to the Alpha Quadrant. Although her   
conversations with Star Fleet had been more than cordial since they'd opened   
communications with home, she was well aware of the underlying questions that   
simmered underneath Admiral Paris' and his team's inquiries about life on Voyager.  
There had been one or two pointed inquiries about certain crewmembers -- the  
Equinox Five in particular.   
  
There was much to think about here.   
  
Janeway sighed and turned once again to gaze out at the stars.   
  
^*^*^*^*   
  
"For me?"   
  
The Doctor couldn't disguise his impatience. He reached out and almost snatched   
at the PADD that Neelix offered him.   
  
"I've been expecting this for quite a while, Neelix. I have no idea why it's   
taken them so long to respond to my inquiries."   
  
"Your special project, Doctor?" Neelix asked. "I assume that is what you're   
waiting for? A response to your Holoprogram?"   
  
The Doctor looked up in irritation.   
  
"Of course." He responded impatiently. "I expect there will be a bidding war." He   
waved the PADD emphatically and continued. "How can they fail to see the value   
of a program such as mine? Seven years of travel through the unknown. Danger.   
Adventure. Wars. The Borg. Species 8472. So many other new species -- humanoid,   
reptilian, amphibian, and, of course, photonic. I can provide those unlucky   
enough to be stuck in the Alpha Quadrant -- those with sufficient curiosity and   
intelligence -- with hours of educational enjoyment. They can travel with me   
without leaving their homes. I can guide them through the maze that is the   
Delta Quadrant. Together we can navigate..."   
  
"I... uh..." Neelix interrupted hastily. "Well, you'll let us know what it says, I'm sure."   
  
"Go away now Neelix. Let me read this in peace."   
  
  
From: Dr. Lewis Zimmerman   
Director, Holographic Imaging and Programming Center   
Jupiter Station   
Sector 001   
To: Emergency Medical Hologram Mark-I   
Chief Medical Officer, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Pathfinder Project   
Stardate: 54654.8   
  
Seven years.   
  
It's been seven years since you were first activated on Stardate 48308, and in all that time you _still_ haven't gotten around to selecting a name for yourself. Honestly, Mark, this is something you should have done a long time ago! 'Doctor' doesn't quite cut it. Any idiot with a degree can call himself a doctor these days. You complain that you don't get the respect you deserve, and you know what? Being a hologram has nothing to do with it. People are basically idiots -- give them a name to focus on, and they don't stop to think if the being they're addressing is composed of flesh or photons. They'd treat a Targhee moonbeast with respect if it had a name that they could pronounce. Just bite the bullet and choose...something! Hell, you can even use the name Zimmerman if you like. I gave you my face; how much more of a presumption can it be to use the name too? If you've been waiting for me to bring it up, fine, I just did. You're welcome to it. Just as long as you don't do anything foolish to disgrace it.   
  
Speaking of which, Barclay recently told me some garbled story about your attempting to get some of your writings published. Naturally, I assumed he was talking about some of the more interesting aspects of your medical experiences in the Delta Quadrant; but no, it turns out he meant holonovels! Honestly, every time I think you can't possibly come up with another stupid idea, you go ahead and top it. Like the time you got it into your head to be an 'emergency command hologram.' Starfleet cadets bust their balls at the Academy for four years, then spend another six months in command school, then countless years working their way up through the ranks and gaining command experience, before anyone trusts them with a ship. And you think installing a few algorithms is all it takes to equal that? Ha. I'm surprised Captain Janeway didn't pull your plug for that one, but that woman always did have strange ideas about what constitutes good crewmembers. Former terrorists, rebels, Borg and murderers -- what's one hologram with delusions of grandeur to compare with that?   
  
But getting back to the issue at hand -- you, my dear EMH, are programmed with information from over 2,000 medical references and the experience of 47 physicians. Your data base contains more than fifty million gigaquads of data comprising the medical knowledge of more than three thousand cultures. And writing cheap sensationalist holonovels is how you spend your time? The opera at least had some redeeming cultural features! If you're hell-bent on this foolishness, I'd at least hope you'd use a pseudonym so you won't embarrass yourself later. But considering you haven't even managed to pick _one_ name yet, I suppose it really is asking too much for you to come up with another one for your hobby.   
  
I'm sending some more journal articles I think you'll be interested in. One in particular is for your captain: the cumulative effects of caffeine on preganglionic nerve fiber proteins at prolonged exposure to artificial gravity. Should give her something to think about. Also the Klingon obstetrical exercises you asked for. Friend of mine who used to work at an OB/GYN clinic on Qo'noS used to say the most important thing is to remove all breakable objects from the delivery room. Including the father.   
  
Haley and Leonard are both doing fine, and Haley sends regards. The LMH project hasn't made much progress since the last time you asked -- still bogged down in bureaucratic red tape. I hear the inside poop is that some of the bigwigs in Starfleet Medical need a little more ego-massaging and then things will start to happen. I never was any good at those games, but I guess I don't have much choice if I don't want this to go the way of the original Mark-I's. If only those idiots would just take a good long look at what you've accomplished -- how you've done the job of a 'real' CMO and then some -- but they all claim you're a unique case, that it was the extra 'tinkering' that made you what you are today.   
  
Anyway, I'm a busy man. It wouldn't hurt you to write a little more often, you know, let me know how things are going. And maybe if your ship can spare you, you could always come by for another visit, or a doctor-patient follow-up. Not that I need it, understand.   
  
Take care of yourself,   
L.Z.   
  
\--   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daeja Thev to Kathryn Janeway--Penny_P
> 
> Dr. Lewis Zimmerman to the Doctor--Rocky_T


	4. Letters to Mike Ayala, B'Elanna Torres, and the Captain

*^*^*^*^*  
  
"Hey Chell."  
  
Harry sprinted to catch up with the Bolian as he headed towards the turbolift.  
"Have you seen Mike Ayala?" Harry stopped and took a quick breath. "Phew. I'm  
going to have to run some more laps, especially if I want to stay in shape for  
the Olympics."  
  
"I haven't seen him Mr. Kim." Chell replied. "But that's not surprising. He  
usually disappears on the days the datastream comes through. I don't think he's  
ever gotten a letter from home."  
  
"Well, he's got one today." Harry said.  
  
"You might find him in the holodeck. I know he took the early shift today. He  
mentioned something about going hiking." Chell glanced at his chronometer.  
"As a matter of fact, I think you can probably catch him now if you run." Chell  
grinned at Harry. "I think he said he had it booked starting at 1445. I seem to  
remember he said he'd managed to get an extra fifteen minutes. Won it from  
someone playing poker, I think. It's 1438 now. You might make it."  
  
"Thanks Chell. I'll get there, no problem."   
  
  
TO: Ayala, Michael, Lt. (brevet)/USS Voyager  
VIA: Project Pathfinder  
FROM: Carey, Anne/Cork, Ireland, Earth, Section 001, router #877221  
Stardate: 54649.5  
  
Dear Lt. Ayala,  
  
We haven't met, but I feel that I know you from Joe's letters, and I hope you will think of me as your friend. I'm writing with good news -- we've found your son Luis, and for the time being he's living with me and my boys here in Cork.  
  
Ever since I found out what happened to Voyager, I've been working with the Federation Relief Agency to see if we can locate any family members of the former Maquis in the crew. At first, we thought all of the Maquis and their homeworlds had been destroyed by the Jem' Hadar during the Dominion War, but since the War ended, we've been learning that was not totally true. Some of the Maquis managed to find safe havens and are slowly coming out of hiding; some of the civilians from the devastated worlds were taken prisoner, and we are finding them in work camps within the Cardassian Union.  
  
That's where we found Luis -- in a work camp on Gorshet III. Physically, he's in relatively good shape. All of the prisoners were suffering from malnutrition and some degree of parasitic infestation, but the physicians assure me he can be easily treated and will recover completely. We are more concerned about his psychological state. He hasn't said a word since the FRA found him, and there is no physical reason for that. Others in the camp knew his name, though, and we were able to run a DNA comparison from your old Starfleet medical records, so there is no doubt he is your son. In addition to the aphasia, he's consistently nervous, wary and guarded -- which is hardly surprising. He either doesn't remember how he came to be in the camp, or he still does not trust us enough to say. I'm hoping that with time, he will recover and be able to help us find your wife and other son. In the meantime, I brought him home to live with me and J.J. and Patrick. The boys love having him, and I thought that living with other teenagers would be good for him. He's a fine boy and, in spite of everything he's been through, he remains considerate and thoughtful. (I wish my sons would keep their room as clean!) If you have other family elsewhere that you would prefer as guardian, please don't hesitate to tell me but truly, he is already beginning to feel like family to us.  
  
I have told him that you are alive and on Voyager, but I don't think he quite believes me. Although I'm sure you need no urging, it would be very helpful for his state of mind if he heard from you in the next data stream. He's seen the letters from Joe that mention you, but there's nothing quite like a personal message.  
  
Please don't give up hope for the rest of your family. We know there are at least two more camps in Cardassia that have not been processed, and there are others in the Gamma Quadrant near the Vorta system. I promise to let you know the moment we discover anything.  
  
I'm so glad I was able to send you good news. I look forward to meeting you in person when Voyager finally makes it home.  
  
Sincerely,  
Anne Carey   
  
\--  
  
"Sarexa, can I ask you something?" B'Elanna motioned to the Talaxian woman.  
Torres was still in the mess hall. Tom had left a while ago. He had discovered a  
small discrepancy in one of the Delta Flyer's capacitors and wanted to realign  
the system before he took her out again.  
  
"Of course B'Elanna. What can I do for you?"  
  
Torres rubbed at her belly. "The baby is particularly busy today. I've been having  
muscle spasms all morning. Do you have something you could recommend that  
would calm her, and me, down?"  
  
"I have just the thing for both of you." Sarexa smiled and continued. "It's a  
special blend of Talaxian herbal tea. Neelix and I made up a batch of it last  
week. It's very soothing. I'll go and prepare a pot of it right now. In the  
meantime, just sit back and relax."  
  
She glanced quickly at the PADD B'Elanna held. "Read your letter Lieutenant.  
I'll be back in a moment with your tea."  
  
  
To: Torres, B'Elanna, Lt.(brevet)/USS Voyager  
From: Barclay, Reginald, Lt./SFHQ/ProjPath/Earth/San Francisco  
Via: Project Pathfinder  
Stardate: 54662.9  
  
Dear B'Elanna,  
  
It works! At least, the temporal chamber works. The best engineers in Starfleet have reviewed your design specs and they even built a model, and they say it works! In fact, Admiral Chapman says you are a genius. He says he always knew you might be and that when Voyager gets home, he expects you to take over his class on Practical Application of Warp Dynamics. I asked my friend Geordi LaForge to take a look at it, too; he's the best engineer I know, and he said the concepts you're using could revolutionize deep space travel. Geordi doesn't give praise lightly, so you should feel good about that.  
  
Unfortunately, no one can tell if the system you've designed will work as a unit. Starfleet knows very little about Borg transwarp technology and nothing at all about the Zornon components you've used. They say it looks like it should work, and they couldn't find any flaws in your simulations, but the only way to know for certain is to try it. I'm attaching the full report.  
  
If it works, Voyager could be home in a matter of weeks or even days. I hope so. I am so looking forward to meeting you, and Tom and Harry and the others. My fingers are crossed for you. There's not much room left in this transmission, so I have to go.  
  
Your friend,  
Reg   
  
  
"Here you are B'Elanna." Sarexa carefully placed a tray holding a thermal teapot,  
a cup, a teaspoon and a small packet on the table.  
  
"Do you mind if I...?"  
  
"Of course not... please sit down."  
  
Sarexa sat and pulled the tray towards her. She removed the lid from the teapot  
and carefully emptied the contents of the packet into it, picked up the pot with both  
hands and swirled it gently -- blending the tea with the piping hot water. She reached  
down into the pocket of her voluminous apron and pulled out a small container.  
  
"An extra soother. Honey." She explained. She squeezed a dollop of the golden liquid  
into the cup, poured the now steeped tea on top of it, and stirred it carefully.  
"Here you are, B'Elanna." Sarexa handed her the cup.  
  
B'Elanna took a sip. "Perfect." She said. She took another sip and smiled. "This  
is just wonderful. Thank you so much."  
  
"Good news, I hope?" Sarexa indicated the PADD that Torres had dropped onto the  
table.  
  
"Oh yes. At least I think so." She paused. "You probably know that I... we've been  
working on integrating Borg transwarp technology with some other components  
to enhance our warp drive. This letter is from Reg Barclay. He said it works, as far as   
they can tell. It works in the simulations we've run, too, but -- " She paused. "The wrong  
mix could be disastrous. I just wish I could be more confident we've found the right  
sequence. The last thing I want is a repeat of what happened with the slip stream."  
  
Sarexa hesitantly reached out and touched B'Elanna's hand. "I...might be able to  
help you, you know." She said.  
  
"You?"  
  
"I was Borg." Sarexa explained. "We..." she faltered for a moment. "We acquired a  
huge amount of technical knowledge collectively. At one time I was assigned to the  
engineering section of my cube. I would be glad to have a look at what you are doing."  
  
B'Elanna's grin was as wide as one of the portals in the mess hall. She stood up, still  
holding her teacup. "Come on" she said. "What are we waiting for? Let's get going."  
  
Sarexa nodded and smiled back at the enthusiastic Lieutenant. "Yes Ma'am," she  
replied, laughing. She rose, removed her apron, and placed it over the back of her chair.  
"I'm coming." But B'Elanna didn't hear her. She was already halfway across the room.   


*^*^*^*^*  
  
From: Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones  
Flights of Fancy, Ltd.  
7147 Piccadilly Circus  
London, England, British Isles WK9L54  
To: Captain Kathryn Janeway  
U.S.S. Voyager-NCC-74656  
Router Heading: Durron Communications  
Stardate: 54655.7  
  
Dear Captain Janeway,  
  
We recently received a letter from a member of your crew calling himself the "Emergency Medical Hologram," submitting a proposal for a holoprogram which we would be interested in pursuing. Our legal department advises that we cannot proceed further until we know the identity of the author. Under Federation copyright law [specifically, Fed. Jur. Code 4532.56.34 (c)], a publisher receiving a direct submission from an anonymous author is required to ascertain whether or not the individual is currently under an exclusive contract with an agency or other publisher.  
  
We cannot, through our own failure to perform due diligence, be party to an attempt to deprive another of a commission or percentage of royalties without exposing our organization to liability. Therefore, we will need to know the true name of your crewman and whether he or she has a relationship with an agent or any past relationship with a different publishing house. A notarized statement will suffice.  
  
We at Flights of Fancy, Ltd. understand the desire for anonymity. Upon confirming that no contractual or other legal impediment exists, your crewman may rest assured that any publication will be issued under his or her nom de plume, "Emergency Medical Hologram." We would be grateful if you could pass this information on to the appropriate person and ask that they contact us again.  
  
Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones  
VP Marketing and Sales  
Flights of Fancy, Ltd.   
  
*^*^*^*^*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anne Carey to Michael Ayala--Penny_P  
> (Anne Carey appears courtesy of monkee)
> 
> Lt. Reginald Barclay to B'Elanna Torres--Juli17ptf
> 
> From Mr. Jameson Whitfield-Wilson-Jones to the captain--fmlyhntr, Penny_P


	5. Letters to Chakotay and Naomi Wildman

\--   
  
Chakotay was in his office preparing the latest set of crew evaluations for the   
captain when the door chimed.   
  
"Come in."   
  
The door opened to admit Neelix and the Talaxian flashed him a friendly smile as   
he walked over to stand in front of him. "Good afternoon, Commander. Am I   
interrupting anything?"   
  
"Nothing that won't keep for a few minutes," Chakotay assured him. "What's on   
your mind?"   
  
"I came to give you this," Neelix answered, and handed him a small PADD. "It   
came through in the latest data stream."   
  
The XO accepted the PADD and glanced at it for a moment before breaking into a   
smile. "I was hoping this would come through," he said.   
  
"Good news, I trust?"   
  
"It's a letter from my sister."   
  
"Well, I'll leave you to read it in private," Neelix replied. "I have several more   
letters to deliver, and I'm sure the other recipients are just as eager as you are to   
get theirs."   
  
"Thanks for bringing this by, Neelix."   
  
"My pleasure, Commander."   
  
Bidding Chakotay farewell, the Talaxian exited his quarters. Setting aside his   
work for the moment, Chakotay crossed over to the replicator and ordered a   
refill of his spice tea before walking over to his couch and settling himself   
down to read Maya's letter.   
  
  
From: Maya Lupes   
CMO Dorvan Medical Center   
Router Heading: Sector 047; Dorvan V Colony   
276478341   
To: Chakotay, First Officer, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Stardate: 54663.2   
  
Dearest Chakotay –   
  
Apologies for taking so long to respond to your letter. A trade ship full of injured Benecians arrived unexpectedly and my staff and I spent several weeks restoring them to full health. It seems they attempted to establish mining rights on a small moon in the Orias sector that is rich with corebalt ore, but unfortunately discovered the hard way it already had been claimed by an especially volatile group of Nausicaans. Needless to say, the Nausicaans were quite unhappy at the unwanted intrusion, and their anger manifested itself into violence against the Benecians. I haven't seen so much brutality deliberately inflicted on another sentient beings since the Cardassians attacked Dorvan V all those years ago. Needless to say it resurrected some unpleasant memories.   
  
But enough about that. I cannot tell you how surprised I was when I received your letter and learned that you were once again serving Starfleet. Terven had mentioned that Voyager was a Starfleet vessel, but the implications of that did not seem to sink in until I read it in your own words. When you resigned your commission to join the Maquis, I was certain that you would never again wear the uniform. Yet under the circumstances I suppose you had little choice; transferred against your will to the other side of the galaxy by an alien creature and forced to destroy your ship to save Voyager. Truth be told, I found that most surprising of all. Because the Chakotay I remember was an angry, bitter man who would sooner have left a Starfleet vessel to the mercy of its attackers than risk his own life and ship to aid them. During our time with the Maquis, your resentment for all of the things Starfleet represented was the fire that fueled your hatred. It was your fear of their retaliation that prompted you to forbid me from joining your crew on the Freedom. Yet perhaps with age comes wisdom, and time has doused the flames of anger. I am pleased that your heart led you to make the right choice.   
  
The descriptions you provided of your friends and crewmates were very interesting; quite a unique group you have there. A former Borg drone is now a member of the crew? And B'Elanna Torres is Chief Engineer and married to the son of an Admiral? Last time I saw her, she would have been more likely to feed a Starfleet officer his fingers for lunch than fall in love with one. Of course, the Terrans are fond of saying that opposites attract, and on some level my own marriage is proof of that. When I first met Esteban, I thought he was an arrogant, selfish man who cared less for his patients than he did for himself. Yet as time passed and I was granted glimpses of the man beneath the facade, I saw someone I could share my life with. He is intelligent, passionate, warm, and funny. And he loves me with an intensity that I have never known. His devotion to me is matched only by his dedication to our cause; the efforts to rebuild Dorvan V would not be as successful if we had not been fortunate enough to have encountered Esteban. We hope to start a family someday, as we both long for children to pass along our heritage to. But for now our focus must be the work we are doing, until the Spirits show us that the time is right to start the next generation.   
  
I must admit that I am most curious about your captain, Kathryn Janeway. I can only imagine the burden she carries as the sole Starfleet commander in an unknown region of space, so far from the world she knows. She is fortunate to have you by her side to support her and steady her as you make your journey home. It is obvious from your letter that you care for her a great deal, so she must be a remarkable woman to have earned the affections of the most honorable man I know. I only hope she is willing and/or able to reciprocate your feelings. You love as deeply as you hate, and with such a thin line between the two, I fear you may be setting yourself up for a fall. It has ever been your nature to think with your heart instead of your brain, and I would not want to see you hurt.   
  
Be safe, Big Brother; I love you and will ask the Spirits to keep watch over you and those you care for until we are together again.   
  
Maya   
  
*^*^*^*   
  
"Naomi?"   
  
Samantha Wildman entered their quarters and looked around.   
  
"Hi Mom. Aren't you supposed to be on duty with the Doctor this afternoon?"   
  
Naomi's head popped up over the top of the easy chair where she had obviously   
been curled up.   
  
"I've got another ten minutes before I have to report in." Samantha walked over   
to her daughter and planted a quick kiss on the top of her head. "What are you   
reading?" She asked as she peered over her daughter's shoulder.   
  
"The Captain loaned this to me." Naomi responded. She held out an ancient looking   
volume for her mother to inspect. "She saw me reading one of B'Elanna's Klingon   
Blood novels yesterday, and she went back to her quarters and brought me this."   
  
_"Little Women"_ Samantha read. "By Louisa May Alcott. You know sweetheart, I read   
this when I was just about your age. And my mother did the exact same thing. She   
gave it to me to in its original format. It's a wonderful book. Are you enjoying it?"   
  
"I really am Mom. More than I thought I would, especially considering it was   
written almost five centuries ago. But it's interesting, isn't it? How that family   
survived without their Dad? And I really like reading it in this format too."   
  
"Well, if you don't mind a short break from the March family, I have something   
else for you to read." Samantha handed Naomi a PADD. I think you'll enjoy this   
almost as much as your book."   
  
Naomi switched on the PADD and looked at the header. "Oh yes!" She exclaimed,   
and began - once again - to read.   
  
  
TO: Wildman, Naomi, Cadet /USS Voyager   
VIA: Project Pathfinder   
FROM: Greskendrtregk, Ktaria VII, router #724726   
Stardate: 54674.7   
  
My Dearest Naomi,   
  
I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am to be addressing this letter to Cadet Wildman. Your mother sent a short message at the end of the last datastream transmission telling me that you had passed your entrance exams and that you have achieved Distant Learner status at Star Fleet Academy. And on your first attempt too! Can you keep a secret, Naomi? I had to try twice before I got in. I don't even know if your Mother knows that! I believe you are the youngest cadet ever to have been accepted into the program. You are a credit to your mother, your teachers, your shipmates and to yourself. I am extremely proud of you, my daughter.   
  
In your last transmission you mentioned that you had switched from assisting the Borg, Seven of Nine, in Astrometrics, to working with the Doctor and your friend Icheb in your ship's Sickbay. Are you enjoying that Naomi? Have you discovered in yourself a bent for the sciences? Your great uncle (my father's brother) is one of the foremost biochemists on Ktaria VII. Perhaps you will follow in his distinguished path.   
  
Your mother also told me of your active participation in Voyager's recent annual emergency procedures drill, again with your friend Icheb. I would so like to hear of your experiences during the program. I have participated in several of those exercises and found each one to be of great value.   
  
Your letters and descriptions of your world on board the Starship Voyager give me a tantalizing glimpse of your life. You describe your special friendships -- with the Talaxian Neelix and with the Borg Seven of Nine. You must miss her now that she has gone to be with her own kind once again. You speak of the Doctor, Lieutenants Paris and Kim, and of your Captain -- who sounds like a brave and wise leader (you do well to emulate her) with such fondness and detail that I almost feel I know them myself.   
  
But you speak most often, and most fondly of Icheb. I would like to know more of him. Your mother has expressed some apprehension regarding your relationship. She tells me he is a serious young man -- that he too was once Borg -- and that he has recently had some contact with them again. She also tells me that he has participated in some dubious activities over the past months. She is concerned that you and he spend too much time together. You are young in years my child, but maturing quickly in the manner of a true daughter of Ktaria. I know that your mother has made great efforts to instill in you the knowledge of our culture and traditions. She has no doubt told you that we of Ktaria mate for life. So I would ask you, Naomi, to step carefully towards your future. For once you have made your decision, it will be -- it must be -- irreversible.   
  
At this time I am visiting with your grandparents on our homeworld. It is the 47th anniversary of their Joining, and our entire family has assembled in their honor. Your uncles and aunts and many cousins are enjoying this time together. Tomorrow, we plan a family expedition to the ski slopes of Malarn. But our reunion is bittersweet. Bitter because you and your mother are not here to celebrate with us. But sweet because we know that you are with us in spirit, and will, with any luck, be here with us in actuality in the not too distant future.   
  
I look forward to hearing more from you in the next transmission. Your letters bring me such joy, my daughter. To have found your mother again after having lost her was a gift beyond imagining. To have found you was a miracle.   
  
My love to you both.   
Father   
  
  
*^*^*^*^   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Chakotay from his sister Maya--Andra Marie
> 
> From Greskrendtregk to his daughter Naomi Wildman--CyberMum


	6. To Megan and Jenny Delaney, Icheb, Harry Kim, and Chakotay

*^*^*^*^  
  
"Delaney to Delaney." Megan grinned as she paged her sister.  
  
" _Delaney here."_ Megan heard the suppressed laughter in Jenny's reply. Even after all  
this time, the two of them found it amusing when they hailed each other in this fashion. _"What's up Sis?"_  
  
"Are you busy?"  
  
_"I'm supposed to be on the bridge in fifteen minutes, but if you need me..."  
_   
Can you come to Astrometrics? There's something here I think you'll want to see."  
  
_"Sure. On my way."_  
  
"Delaney out." Megan grinned again and de-activated her comm badge. She turned  
back to her console and removed a filled PADD from the download slot, placed it in  
the appropriate pile, and inserted another blank one. Harry and Neelix would be back  
shortly for their next batch of deliveries, and she wanted everything to be ready for  
them. Over the months that the crew had been exchanging communications with  
the Alpha Quadrant, and Harry and Neelix had been delivering the mail, they had  
established an efficient routine. Rather than wait for all the letters to be retrieved,  
the self-styled Mail Men picked up between eight and ten pieces at a time and  
distributed them as quickly as they could. They had found on mail day that most of  
the crew became understandably impatient if there were any delays. By the time  
they had delivered their first batches, the next ones were downloaded and ready  
to be handed out.  
  
She had retrieved four more messages by the time her sister arrived, slightly  
out of breath and still buttoning up her jacket.  
  
"Late again Sis?" Megan asked, not even looking up from her console.  
  
"I wasn't supposed to be on the bridge until 1600 hours. I was on time until you  
called me, Meg." Jenny replied.  
  
Megan turned around and picked up a PADD that she had set aside.  
  
"Here." She said. "I even resisted the temptation to read it before you got  
here. It's from Robbie."  
  
Jenny activated the PADD.  
  
"Oh boy." She said. "We haven't heard from him in ages!"  
  
"Can you read it aloud Jen? Then I can keep going with these things."  
  
"Sure."   
  
  
TO: Jennie and Megan Delaney, USS Voyager  
VIA: Project Pathfinder  
FROM: Delaney, Robert/Palo Alto, Earth, Section 001, router #108992  
Stardate: 54683.2  
  
Hey there,  
  
I know, I know, it's about time your little brother finally wrote again. And this time, I can't tell you that it was lost in the datastream.  
  
I'm in the process of finishing my PhD dissertation, finally. Dr. Moller is ecstatic. If nothing else goes wrong, I'll be graduating this summer. Dr. Robert Delaney. It does have a nice ring to it. Mom wants to send out the announcements now. I'll send you a copy of my dissertation, if you want? "The Tetra-synchronous modality of gaseous flux in class V binary stars." Megan might be interested.  
  
A group of the Voyager families are planning a picnic next month. I'm thinking I might actually go this time. Mom has gone to almost every one. Since hearing both of you were alive, she has become an even more active participant in the Voyager Families Association. It's not an official group; Starfleet brass usually ignore us. Except Admiral Paris. An interesting man. He keeps us informed on your trip -- when he can.  
  
Mom and I were delighted to hear both of you survived your most recent run-in with the Borg. Are the rumors true? Did you really beat them so soundly they will not be a problem for many years to come?  
  
But so many lost. You have my deepest sympathies. And best wishes.  
  
The rumors are flying that you may be home by summer. Just my luck, you may upstage me again.  
  
With love,  
Robbie   
  
\---  
"That was so..." Jenny paused for a moment.  
  
"It was so Robbie." Megan finished for her. "Can you believe that our little brother  
is going to be a 'phud'. He always used to tease me about my 'quest for eddication'.  
And now look at him."  
  
"I think we'll have to do a little teasing of our own in our next letter home."  
Jenny said. She glanced down at the chronometer on her wrist. "I've got to go  
Meg. Do you mind keeping the PADD for now? I don't have any pockets, and I'm  
already late for my shift."  
  
"Sure, no problem." Her sister replied. "Go on. I'll see you later."  
  
"I'm gone!" Jenny replied and headed toward the door.  
  
Megan turned back to her console and began the next download procedure.   
  
^*^*^*^*  
  
"Good afternoon, Icheb. Hope I'm not interrupting your studies," Neelix said  
brightly as he entered Cargo Bay 2.  
  
Icheb looked up from the console where he was working. "I am permitted to take  
'a break,' as Lieutenant Paris calls it. My report concerning human-Vulcan  
relationships prior to the formation of the Federation is almost complete. I  
will be sending it to Commander Tuvok shortly."  
  
"Ah. That explains why you weren't in Astrometrics earlier today when the  
letters started coming in from the Alpha Quadrant."  
  
The hint of smile that had been on Icheb's face vanished. "I anticipated they  
would arrive today."  
  
"Did you? Everyone else lost track! You know, there was a letter for you this  
month."  
  
"A letter? Are you certain it's for me?" Icheb's astonishment was evident.  
Since the only letter Icheb had previously received through the datastream  
had been his official letter of acceptance to the Academy, Neelix was not  
surprised by his reaction.  
  
"Absolutely Icheb." Neelix replied smiling. "This one's definitely got your name  
on it. Here. See for yourself."  
  
Neelix activated the PADD and handed it to the young man.  
  
He watched as Icheb turned it on and read, tickled at the way the shocked  
expression suffusing the young man's face nudged away any trace of Borg  
impassivity. When Icheb placed the PADD back on the console without comment  
about the letter, however, Neelix couldn't help himself. "Who is the letter from?"  
  
"Don't you know? Naomi says you always do," Icheb said, a small smile appearing  
on his lips, making him look even less Borg than before.  
  
"Well, I . . . uh, I have to check which letter is which, you know, and sometimes  
I can't help but see the entire heading, you see . . ."  
  
"Neelix, it's all right. You can read it if you like. It's from Admiral Paris."  
  
"Well, I knew that, actually . . . " Neelix admitted sheepishly. He accepted the  
PADD from Icheb and perched himself on the cot Icheb often used, now that he  
rarely regenerated and needed to sleep more.  
  
As much as Neelix enjoyed mail day, he found it a bit tiring. Rushing around the  
ship, trying to deliver everyone's mail in a timely fashion, was harder than he  
would admit. And he'd had a particularly active morning. He was, to use one of  
Tom Paris' favorite twentieth century idioms, 'pooped'. Settling himself into a  
reasonably comfortable position, Neelix began to read.   
  
  
From: Admiral Owen Paris, Starfleet Command  
APO San Francisco. Earth  
To: Cadet Icheb, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656  
Stardate: 54682.4  
  
Dear Cadet Icheb,  
  
Congratulations upon the completion of your first semester's work in Starfleet Academy's "Distant Learner" program. It's quite a challenge for anyone to work on basic course work so far from home. To make the Dean's List under these circumstances is remarkable. I remember Commander Tuvok well from his days as an instructor at Starfleet Academy. He always grades his students fairly, adhering strictly to Academy standards; I know you earned those high marks. You have achieved much in the short time you have been on Voyager.  
  
One other thing about completing on your studies out in deep space: you are gaining a wealth of practical experience the average Academy student can only dream about. The normal cadet's short training missions, invaluable as they are, can in no way compare to your time on Voyager. Captain Janeway is one of our finest captains and can teach you much about command that cannot be learned in formal classes. Serving with her is certain to enhance your credentials for a successful career.  
  
If you have any questions at all about your Academy course work, or anything connected with Starfleet itself, feel free to contact me at Starfleet Command. I will be following your progress with great interest. Good luck in all your future endeavors.  
  
Sincerely,  
Owen Paris, Admiral, Starfleet Command

  
  
By the time he had finished reading, Neelix was beaming. "This is wonderful, Icheb!  
Admiral Paris taking an interest in your career -- that's quite a friend to have in a very  
high place! Looks like you'll have a lot to look forward to when we get to the Alpha  
Quadrant."  
  
"Perhaps," Icheb replied, when Neelix returned the PADD to him. As Neelix began to  
leave, however, Icheb stopped him, asking, "Neelix, did Naomi receive a letter, too?"  
  
"Yes, she did. From her father." Neelix added, in a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm sure  
she'll tell you all about it over dinner."  
  
After Neelix had gone, Icheb turned back to work on his report for a few more  
minutes, then hit "pause" on his console.  
  
Reactivating the PADD, Icheb reread its contents, virtually committing it to  
memory. Tonight, he'd have a letter of his own to discuss in the mess hall.  
  
^*^*^*^*  
  
To: Kim, Harry, Lt. (j.g.)/USS Voyager  
From: Patel, Sunil/San Francisco Public Library/Earth/San Francisco  
Via: Project Pathfinder  
Stardate: 54651.6  
  
Dear LIEUTENANT HARRY KIM:  
  
Our records indicate that you failed to return "THE TIME MACHINE" by H.G. WELLS on its due date of JANUARY 31, 2371. Please be aware that the San Francisco Public Library charges a late fee of 0.75 credits per day for each day a book is not returned following its due date. Your current late charge is ONE THOUSAND, TWO EIGHT HUNDRED FORTY-ONE POINT FIVE (1,841.50) CREDITS.  
  
This late charge will continue to accumulate until such time as the book is returned to the Library. We urge you to do so at your first opportunity. Books are a valuable asset to the community, and it harms us all when one is withheld from circulation, even though an oversight. Thank you for your cooperation.  
  
Sincerely,  
Sunil Patel  
Asst. Head Librarian,  
Circulation Division  
  
^*^*^*^*   
  
Chakotay stared at the PADD, astounded that Starfleet had even authorized the   
transmission of...   
  
Of what? Drivel? There was only a limited amount of space, and he hated to think   
that someone's legitimate letter hadn't been sent because of this...drivel.   
  
"Commander?" He glanced up.   
  
"Good morning, B'Elanna." He smiled at her, the letters briefly forgotten. "How   
are the final preparations for connecting the transwarp coil going?”   
  
"They're coming along. Still a few glitches, but Icheb thinks we'll be ready on time.  
And I agree with him." She motioned toward the PADD as she sat down across   
from him. "I see Harry has been making the rounds."   
  
"A letter from my sister and some other..."   
  
She smiled at him. "Maya is a remarkable young woman."   
  
"Yes, she is. She has done remarkable work on Dorvan."   
  
"I look forward to seeing her again. Who else wrote you?" B'Elanna leaned   
forward, so he moved the PADD just enough to prevent her from seeing it.   
  
"Nobody."   
  
"Nobody sent you a letter?"   
  
"That is correct. Perhaps we should ask Starfleet to put restrictions on mail   
from unauthorized personnel."   
  
"Why?" She reached for the PADD. He reluctantly let her have it. She read for   
just over one second then pushed it back to him with a laugh. "I think this one   
deserves a response."   
  
"I'd rather ignore the letter completely. It's embarrassing."   
  
"You're famous. She sounds like quite a woman."   
  
"I am not going to marry her, no matter what her attributes are."   
  
B'Elanna closed her eyes and laughed even harder. Chakotay shook his head,   
but she was right. The whole situation was absurd enough to be funny. "Read  
the third page."   
  
"Three pages?" She glanced down and started to read. "I knew it was love the   
moment I saw your face on the news. So strong, so handsome..." She thrust the   
PADD back toward him. "It's personal."   
  
He hit the delete button. "I hope her husband doesn't find out." He laughed at   
the look on B'Elanna's face. "That's why I suggested page three."   
  
"I'll mention it to Reg. The datastream was full again this time." She stood.   
"Anyway, it wouldn't have worked. She's not your type." B'Elanna nodded to   
her right.   
  
"B'Elanna...," he warned, when he saw Kathryn was walking their way.   
  
"What? Come on Chakotay. We all know who you have your heart set on.   
I'll see you at the staff briefing. Good morning, Captain." B'Elanna continued to   
chuckle as she left.   
  
"Captain," Chakotay said as Kathryn sat down where B'Elanna had been sitting.   
  
"What did B'Elanna find so funny?"   
  
"Nothing." No way would he tell her.   
  
"Just one of those pregnancy things?"   
  
"I guess so." He took a sip of marok tea. He always found it hard to lie to her.   
  
She stared at her cup of coffee. "Is there a problem?" He wondered if she'd   
received bad news from home.   
  
"No...I'll be in my ready-room." He watched as she walked away. Something   
_was_ wrong. He wondered just what her mail had brought to her.   
  
*^*^*^*^*   
  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Robbie Delaney to his sisters--fmlyhntr
> 
> From Admiral Owen Paris to Cadet Icheb--jamelia116
> 
> From Sunil Patel, San Francisco Public Library to Harry Kim--Penny_P
> 
> A "fan letter" to Chakotay--fmlyhntr


	7. Letters to Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres

^*^*^*^*  
  
Tom walked into their quarters at seventeen ten hours to find his wife already  
there. She was sitting on the couch, staring out the window; and she didn't  
immediately acknowledge him. He walked by the bed, flicking one of the little  
ships on the mobile over the baby's cradle as he passed, making it spin lightly  
on its axis. When he looked at B'Elanna again, she was watching him with a  
faint smile on her face.  
  
"You do that every time you walk in the door," she said, shaking her head.  
  
Okay, so he was predictable. He shrugged and grinned as he plopped down on  
the couch next to his wife. "You're home early. Everything okay?"  
  
"Uh huh." B'Elanna looked at the PADD in his hand. "Letter?"  
  
Tom nodded. "From my mother." He started to hand the PADD to her when he  
noticed another sitting one on the couch on the other side of her.  
  
B'Elanna saw the direction of his gaze. "I got two letters this month."  
  
"Really? Let me guess. Barclay..." -- that one Tom was sure of, since B'Elanna  
and Barclay had been exchanging letters every month, most recently about her  
project -- "...and K'Nar?" he guessed. Her uncle had written several times now,  
apparently determined to keep B'Elanna apprised of her Klingon family's activities.  
  
"It's from my cousin Elizabeth."  
  
Tom set his PADD aside. They'd get to his mother's letter later. "What did she say?"  
  
B'Elanna shrugged. "I haven't read it yet. I figured I'd wait until I got home."  
  
"Good idea," Tom said. "It's hard to concentrate with all the activity in Engineering."  
  
B'Elanna made no move to pick up her PADD. "I'm not sure I want to do this."   
  
Tom knew she wasn't talking just about reading the letter. "B'Elanna, you  
answered her last letter," he reminded her gently. Elizabeth had written two  
months earlier, a brief letter expressing happiness that B'Elanna was doing  
well, expressing hope that they could get to know each other again. B'Elanna had  
answered that letter last month, in a polite, almost terse manner, indicating  
neither eagerness at Elizabeth's overture to renew their relationship nor  
refusing it. Tom knew B'Elanna was skittish about reconnecting with either side  
of her family after all the years of separation and bitterness. But he was also  
sure she wanted those connections, even if she was hesitant to completely trust  
the intentions behind them. "You might as well read it. You can always decide  
later if you want to respond."  
  
B'Elanna picked up the PADD and offered it to him. "You read it."  
  
After a moment Tom nodded and took the PADD. He forwarded it to Elizabeth's  
letter,noticing that it contained a lot more data bits than her last letter. He pulled  
up the text and began to read.  
  
"To: B'Elanna Torres, USS Voyager, Delta Quadrant

From: Elizabeth Torres Steinbach, Geneva, Switzerland, Earth,  
routing...yada, yada.  
  
"Dear B'Elanna...  
  
"Thank you for answering my letter. You didn't say much, but I realize that my first letter to you was very sketchy also. At least we got that awkward first step out of the way, so this time I'm going to jump right in and get personal. After all, we're family, even if events we couldn't control when we were children kept us out of contact for so long. I'm anxious to catch up on everything we've missed, and to know my cousin again. Though not as anxious as my daughter is to know you!  
  
"I told you that Jack and I have two children. Our son Jarrett is eight. Our daughter, Isabel, who is named after our grandmother, in another name variation, is six. We usually call her Izzy. She can't wait to meet you when you get home from the Delta Quadrant. I suppose you know that you've become pretty famous here. Every school child is learning about the discoveries Voyager's crew has made in the Delta Quadrant, and the new races you've encountered. You are all fast becoming living legends, but to Izzy, you are the real legend, because you're her cousin. She's decided she wants to an engineer when she grows up. I can't promise that will hold, since I recall wanting to be an anthropologist, a ballerina, and a doctor when I was her age, before I realized I was most gifted with numbers. But she's pretty insistent right now, thanks to your exploits. I'd certainly be proud for her to follow in your footsteps.  
  
"In your letter, you said you hoped my family was well. I know you added that out of politeness, but since you mentioned it, I'll take it as an invitation to reacquaint you with the rest of my family -- and yours. My youngest brother, Michael (you know, the one who was so picky he wouldn't eat anything but hot dogs or peanut butter sandwiches on that camping trip) runs a restaurant on Risa specializing in Terran Mediterranean and Asian cuisine. Turns out he's a great cook (whereas I can barely get boiled water out of a replicator), and he's very good with people. He's already got a table reserved for you and Tom when you get home.  
  
"I'm sure you also remember my middle brother, Carl. I know his pranks upset you once, but he never meant to be mean. He was an annoying brat as a kid, but he did grow up eventually. Really. In fact he joined Starfleet. He majored in medicine and psychology at the Academy. Can you believe that? He married a very nice woman, and they had a beautiful little boy. Shortly after he finished his leave for the baby's birth, he accepted a post as ship's counselor on the USS Einstein. Two months later, the Einstein was lost with all hands at the Battle of Betazed. We were all grief-stricken, but we weren't the only ones to suffer. So many were lost during the Dominion War that there's barely a person in the Federation who wasn't affected. I know many on Voyager have lost family and friends too, especially those who knew some of the Maquis massacred by the Cardassians.  
  
"You must have lost some friends too, B'Elanna, and I'm sorry. I'm a citizen of the Federation, but I thought from the beginning that the Maquis got a raw deal when their homes were sacrificed for the treaty -- one the Cardassians never intended to honor anyway. That's how most people felt about it, and still do -- at least the average citizen.  
  
"I tried to get in contact with you once, years ago. I was going to MIT, and my mom told me you were attending Starfleet Academy. When I called there, I was told you'd resigned from the Academy a week earlier. A few months later I found out you had joined the Maquis, and I knew there was no way to reach you then. I figured you'd found a cause you believed in, and I hoped you would be okay. I also admired your resolve, though in retrospect, I'm glad you ended up in the Delta Quadrant with Voyager. That's selfish of me, and I realize in some ways it must have been hard for you to know that your life took such a fortuitous turn when so many other lives didn't, but I'm still glad, B'Elanna. I hope you are too.  
  
"Anyway, my parents still live in the same house in Santa Fe. We'll be there for Thanksgiving dinner in a couple of weeks. I think you recall those since you were there for the annual gorging a couple of times. I always had a bellyache by the end of the day. Some things never change! My parents asked me to send you their best, B'Elanna. They remember you fondly, and they're very happy to know that you are doing so well. My mother in particular was really upset when Uncle John decided to leave you permanently with your mother because he thought it would be better not to 'mess up' your life by pulling you between two different worlds. My dad kept his silence, out of brotherly loyalty I guess, but my mom gave Uncle John hell for being so utterly spineless (her words). And if Grandma Isabella had still been alive...

"Well, she wasn't. And the rest of us...I can use the excuse that I was just a child too, but even then I knew it wasn't right. We shouldn't have let Uncle John make a decision for all of us, but you were so far away, on Kessik, and later Qo'noS. I guess we felt we had little choice. Even so, I want you to know that we never stopped thinking of you as one of our family, B'Elanna. Never.  


  
"I've mentioned him a couple of times now, so I guess there's no point in evading the subject. I can't imagine how you feel about your father. I'm sure it's nothing positive. I can't blame you. I do love Uncle John, but I never understood how he could just forget about you. Or pretend to forget about you. He didn't cut you out of his life to get back at Miral, or because he didn't care about you. As I've gotten older, I've come to realize that he simply took the easy way out. Uncle John isn't good at confrontations. Aunt Miral would never have kept you from him if he'd pressed for his rights.  
  
"I'm not absolving Uncle John of his actions in any way. I don't know if you can forgive him for the past, but I do know that he never stopped loving you. Like I said, he just pretended to forget about you, and he didn't do a very good job of it. He always kept track of you. He knew when you entered the Academy, and when you joined the Maquis. How do you think my mom kept me informed? After we heard Voyager and a Maquis ship had disappeared, and your presence on the Maquis ship was finally confirmed, Uncle John was devastated. By that point, several months had passed, and it was assumed that everyone on both ships had perished, including you.  
  
"Oddly, that event brought your mother and father together, briefly. They talked for the first time in almost fifteen years, and they both grieved for you. Three years later, when Starfleet received the message that Voyager was in the Delta Quadrant and you were listed among the survivors, they both rejoiced.  
  
"I saw Miral then, at that announcement meeting for Voyager families, when Starfleet shared your EMH's message with all of us. She looked strong and beautiful. Seeing her made me think of you, and the woman you must have become. She forgave your father, B'Elanna. Oh, she was harsh with him, but he was still your father, and her husband once. She loved you too much to regret anything in her past -- in their past together -- and was far too happy knowing you were alive and well to hold a grudge. I don't know if that is a comfort to you -- that after all these years they both forgot their differences and thought of you first -- but I hope it is.  
  
"I think your father is going to write you, B'Elanna. In fact, I encouraged him to do it. I hope you aren't too angry with me. He wants to know you again, and to make up for all the years he's thrown away. I know a lot of time has passed, and probably a lot of pain, and if you reject his overture I'll understand. Though nothing can erase the past, I do hope you can forgive him and give him another chance.  
  
"This letter is already long, but I thought this once I could get away with it. I hope you'll write back, B'Elanna, and tell me about your life on Voyager. I'd love to hear what it's like to being a chief engineer (Izzy is also anxious to know!), what it's like to travel through unknown and, from your ship's logs, dangerous territory, and what it's like to live on one ship for so long. After seven years you must all be like a family now -- lots of squabbles but plenty of mutual support when things get tough. And I really want to hear all about this husband of yours. Voyager's chief pilot, huh? Tom Paris must be a lot more than your typical flyboy if he's managed to make himself worthy of you. (Yeah, I've heard about his past. Old news.) Please tell Tom (if he's not already reading this with you) that we appreciate everything his father has done to keep the Voyager families informed and involved. The man has been a rock for all of us.  
  
"Also, congratulations to both of you regarding the coming baby. I've been through it twice, so if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them. I can tell you that my two children are my greatest achievement. Even if raising a child sometimes seems like a scary proposition (especially with the Dominion War here, and who knows what on your journey), you won't have any regrets, I promise you.  
  
"Please do write back, if not for me, then for a six year old little girl who idolizes you. (Sorry, I know that's not fair play, but what's a little manipulation between family?)  
  
"Take care, B'Elanna, and come home safely.  
  
"Love, your cousin, Elizabeth."  
  
  
B'Elanna hadn't spoken at all while Tom read the letter, though their eyes had  
met several times, and he'd seen her expression change at a couple of points.  
He'd avoided his natural instinct to insert witty commentary as he read, knowing  
B'Elanna wouldn't appreciate it at that moment.  
  
"Nice letter," Tom offered quietly.  
  
B'Elanna frowned, her tense posture signaling her agitation. "Why did she have  
to bring _him_ up?"  
  
"She'd have to eventually, B'Elanna. Maybe she figured better sooner than later-"  
  
"I don't care what she says! He hasn't tried to contact me for twenty years, and  
now I'm supposed to believe he's cared about me all this time? He's a _p'taQ_!"  
  
Tom smiled faintly. "Yeah. But he's also your father."  
  
B'Elanna shook her head. "He doesn't care about me, Tom. He doesn't even know  
me! Elizabeth is wrong. He's not going to write me, and I'm certainly not going  
to write him!"  
  
Tom was pretty sure her father would write. He hoped so, anyway, even though he  
felt his own measure of resentment against John Torres for what he'd done to his  
daughter. But John Torres was also the one person who could undo some of that  
damage. Tom put his hand over his wife's fisted one. "We can worry about that if  
and when he writes. But, B'Elanna..."  
  
B'Elanna looked at Tom when he paused, her expression still glowering. "What?"  
  
Tom glanced around deliberately, then gave her a crooked grin. "Just making sure  
there's nothing too heavy you can throw at me when I tell you what I have to say."  
  
"Tom --"  
  
B'Elanna tried to jerk her hand from his, and he jerked back, not about to be  
swayed. "I don't doubt Elizabeth's words, B'Elanna, and neither do you. Your  
father kept track of you all these years. He didn't just forget about you. He  
didn't stop loving you, any more than your mother did. Your uncle K'Nar has  
welcomed you into your mother's family as if you'd never been gone, Elizabeth  
is anticipating a long, renewed relationship, and Michael is holding a table for  
us at his restaurant." He squeezed her hands. "B'Elanna, you came to the  
Delta Quadrant thinking you had no family left, that none of them really cared  
anymore. Believe me, I had the same sentiment about my family once. But  
it looks like we've both been proved wrong. It's a good feeling, isn't it?"  
  
B'Elanna stared at him for several moments, her anger slipping, replaced  
by bemusement. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe."  
  
Tom smiled at her grudging acknowledgment. "I really look forward to  
meeting Elizabeth. She seems like a nice person."  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "She was always nice to me. I suppose I was too busy  
being defensive to notice, or to appreciate it."  
  
"Kids are sometimes like that, but they grow up. Look at Carl."  
  
B'Elanna looked somber. "I guess he did change a lot."  
  
"Adults can change too."  
  
B'Elanna's sharp gaze told Tom she was aware of the reference to her father.  
Tom also knew she needed time to get used to the idea of contact with her  
father again after so many years. There would be time to deal with that later.  
He decided a change of subject was in order.  
  
"My mom wrote me a letter this month. Want to read it?"  
  
"Sure." Grunting with the effort needed to reach the PADD he was holding  
out to her, thanks to the vigorous kicking going on in her bulky midsection,  
B'Elanna accepted the letter and began to read it silently.  
  
"You could read it aloud, B'Elanna." She glanced up at him. He had such a  
wistful expression on his face, she obliged him:  
  
  
"Dear Tom,  
  
How are you doing, dear? And how is B'Elanna doing? Is she getting big? Is she still "mellowed out," as you so beautifully put it, or is she getting to that final stage of pregnancy where a woman snarls at everything and just wants it all to be over?  
  
"Make sure she knows it's the same way with humans -- only the "mellow stage" sometimes never shows up at all. It didn't when I was carrying you. You kicked me too much, especially at night."

  
  
B'Elanna paused, grinning ruefully at her husband while rubbing her stomach  
from a particularly sharp assault from within. "No denying this baby is yours,  
Tom. Like father, like daughter," she remarked. Tom was still chuckling when  
she continued,  


  
"Your father said you were a real Paris, making your presence known. I wasn't about to argue with him! I agreed wholeheartedly! And you weren't much different after you were born, I must say!  
  
I do so wish I could see how big B'Elanna is getting in person. Could you send a holosnapshot of the two of you next time? It doesn't have to be at high resolution. Your father can get the image enhanced easily. I'd really love to have an informal one of you both for our "family gallery."  
  
But, enough about pregnancy. I probably should write to B'Elanna next time and chat with her about it rather than bore you to death. I just hope everything is going well for both of you.  
  
Everyone here is doing well. Kathleen and Moira and their families all send their love. Your Uncle Charlie had to have surgery on his knee, and Aunt Mary had a touch of Antarean Fever last month, but both are doing just fine now. Your cousin Lucille's oldest boy Travis -- little Travis is sixteen, can you believe it? -- just received his invitation to attend Starfleet Academy in the fall. He wants to be a pilot, of course! It's the "Paris Tradition," he says. And from the way he dashes around in his parent's aircar, I'd say he's well on his way to following in your footsteps. At least it hasn't landed in Lake Tahoe yet. (And no, I'm never going to forget, so just get used to hearing me mention it.)  
  
Do you have any idea how pleased your father was when he received your letter last month? I know he'd never breathe a word of this to you, but he made three back-up copies of it and printed out a hard copy to save, just to make sure it wouldn't be lost. That's three copies I know of. I have no idea if he has others at the office. I wouldn't bet against it -- if I were a betting sort of person, that is. I only made two copies for myself -- just kidding. Still, I was so happy you sent it. Your father understood completely the month we didn't hear from you, when you sent your message to your friend from Auckland, but he was disappointed. This letter made up for it completely.  
  
You'd barely recognize your father lately, you know. His work on the Pathfinder Project was all that kept him sane once he realized you were alive. I don't want to say he's a different man, because that's not precisely true. He's always let me see this side of himself. This is the Owen Paris I fell in love with. Why he always felt compelled to hide it from everyone else, though, even from his children, I'll never know; but he's not hiding it any more. After going through the hell of losing you, and then discovering you weren't lost after all, no one has any doubt about how much he loves you or your sisters. He's become much more demonstrative with them. He's always talking about B'Elanna, too, and how brilliant she is. And his grandchild! Not that he doesn't love his other grandchildren, but this one is going to have the name Paris. You can imagine how proud he is of that! He can't decide if she's going to be the most brilliant pilot Starfleet has ever known or the greatest engineer.  
  
(You aren't going to give the baby only the Torres name, are you? Or one of those hyphen things? Your father is so set on having another Paris in the family -- but, of course, it's none of my business, really. It's up to you and B'Elanna. Just let me know if you aren't going to have Paris in the baby's name so I can prepare him, before it's official, OK?)  
  
Anyway, after he'd read your letter the first dozen times or so, he sat down and wrote the letter to young Icheb you requested. He was glad to do it. Once you all get back home, I'd like to invite Icheb whenever we have our family gatherings. I'm sure he's smart and "good Academy material," as your father told me; but, as you said, he also needs to have a family he can turn to. How lonely it must be for him, after what happened with his parents!  
  
I hope you realize, dear, that even when you and your family were farthest apart, we loved you and desperately wanted what was best for you. Maybe your father was a little _too_ desperate about it sometimes and didn't know the right way to show it. But never think that this young man Icheb is "the son he always wanted." You were that, Tom. Always!  
  
Say hello to Captain Janeway for me, by the way. Her sister Phoebe is coming to lunch next week, as a matter of fact. And give B'Elanna a kiss from all of us. I can barely wait to be able to give you one in person! Hurry home soon!  
  
Love,   
Mom   
  
  
After finishing Tom's letter, B'Elanna was silent for a few seconds, digesting  
what she'd just read. Finally, she said, "I'm glad your parents are taking an  
interest in Icheb. He always seemed so lost on 'Letter Day,' since he never had  
anyone to write him."  
  
"This is just the beginning. He'll have pen pals galore once Mom gets people  
mobilized."  
  
"Your mother must be a very nice person, Tom."  
  
"Mom's great."  
  
"You miss her a lot?"  
  
"I do. You're going to love her, B'Elanna."  
  
"I don't get it. How come you're always talking about your father, but you never  
say anything about her?"  
  
"Human nature, I guess. With Mom, I don't have anything to complain about."  
  
"It sounds like your father is 'mellowing' a little, himself."  
  
Tom shrugged his shoulders diffidently, but B'Elanna wasn't fooled. The  
picture of Tom's father formed as a result of Mrs. Paris' letter made Captain  
Janeway's admiration for him easier to accept. Owen Paris was obviously a  
lot more complicated -- and more loving a parent -- than Tom's stories about  
him had led her to expect.  
  
"When you write your mother back, tell her that any baby who kicks up as much  
of a fuss as this one deserves the name Paris!"  
  
"Will do," Tom laughed. "Hey, what did Barclay have to say about your project?"  
  
B'Elanna's eyes brightened, as they always did when she spoke of her project.  
"He thinks it will work. So does Geordi LaForge."  
  
Tom knew LaForge was chief engineer on Starfleet's flagship, the Enterprise.  
"I'm not surprised. My wife is an engineering genius after all, not to mention a  
major role model..."  
  
B'Elanna snorted. "To a six year old."  
  
"Probably thousands of them, now that we've become 'legends.' "  
  
"What about you, Tom? I seem to recall Starfleet is considering  
incorporating some of your Delta Flyer design specs into the next class of  
shuttles. I'm sure lots of those school kids want to be 'Tom Paris, Starfleet  
Pilot' when they grow up."  
  
"What a lucky kid we're going to have, with us for parents," Tom said,  
grinning immodestly.  
  
B'Elanna laughed. "You're right. But right now, our daughter is hungry, and  
so is her mother."  
  
"Dinner in the Mess hall tonight?" Tom asked. On what had become known  
popularly as "Letter Day," almost everyone showed up in the Mess hall for  
the evening meal, eager to share and hear news from home. It was always  
good to see so many happy faces.  
  
B'Elanna nodded. "Okay."  
  
When she started to rise, Tom grasped her elbow lightly. The first few times  
he'd done that, she'd brushed his hand away. Now her belly was getting bigger,  
and it took a little extra effort for her to get on her feet from a sitting position,  
so she'd silently acquiesced to his support.  
  
"What do you think Harry's parents had to say to him this time?" Tom asked as  
they headed for the door.  
  
B'Elanna smiled. "It's a toss between 'When is that nice captain of yours going  
to make you a lieutenant commander?' and 'Do you have a girlfriend yet?'."  
  
"I'll take the second."  
  
"Okay, I'll take the first. If I win, you give me a back rub."  
  
Tom nodded. "And if I win?"  
  
"Then you give me a back rub."  
  
Tom grinned at her sly look. "That sounds like a deal," he said, as they exited  
their quarters together.   
  
*^*^*^*^*^*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Mrs. Elizabeth Torres Steinbach to her cousin B'Elanna Torres--juli17ptf
> 
> From Mrs. Owen Paris to her son Tom--jamelia116


	8. Letters to Marla Gilmore and Kathryn Janeway

\--   
  
The stars streamed by the mess hall viewport, but the attractive blonde staring   
in their direction didn't seem to be aware of them to the slightest degree.   
Harry cleared his throat conspicuously several times to warn her of his approach,   
but he had almost walked into her chair before she suddenly glanced up at him.   
  
"Oh! Harry! You surprised me."   
  
"I think your mind is in the Alpha Quadrant already, Marla, even if the rest of   
you is still on the way there."   
  
Although she smiled, it seemed a bit sad to Harry. "I'm not the only one   
tonight, I don't think."   
  
Taking a seat across the table from her, Harry asked, "Your family is okay, I   
hope. I know you got a letter . . ."   
  
"Everyone at home is fine, Harry. No, it's just me getting a little melancholy.   
I get this way whenever Letter Day comes. So many never made it far enough to   
get any letters. And my nephew was a little boy when I last saw him, and now   
he's sprouting up like a weed. Not as fast as Naomi, maybe, but he'll be a young   
man before I get home. He's growing up without me."   
  
"Maybe not. With the new drive, we might be home faster than you think."   
  
After a short pause, Marla said, "You could be right." She was smiling a little   
more cheerfully now, but still not as much as Harry would have liked to see.   
"Did your parents write to you?"   
  
"Sure did. Mom would never miss a chance to...I mean, she always writes me."   
  
"Of course. She's proud of you, and you deserve it."   
  
A shadow crossed her face, and Harry impulsively reached out to pat her on   
the hand. He wasn't quite sure how it happened that he ended up holding it   
instead, but he didn't exactly mind. It may have been her touch that inspired   
him to say, "Can I interest you in an ice cream soda for two?"   
  
She hesitated slightly again before nodding, "Sure, Harry. I'd love to." She   
picked up the PADD lying on the table, cradling it gently in her arms as they   
went to the replicator to get their soda. 

  
  
From: Kaylyn Richardson   
Seattle, Washington BR North America, Earth, Sector 001   
To: Crewman Marla Gilmore, U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656   
Stardate: 54656.7   
  
Dear Marla,   
  
What can I say, Sis? Maybe I should slip in a little small talk before responding to the bombshell that was your last letter, but where could I begin? So, I'm just going to get to the point.   
  
I'm glad you're finally being honest with us. I must say, I was getting very worried about how silent Starfleet has been about the Equinox survivors. I knew something had to be very wrong, but I was so happy to know you were alive when we'd been told you had been lost, I was able to push my concerns aside. Now that you've told us the truth, I understand the mixed messages we've been getting from the brass.   
  
I'd like to tell you your fears are groundless about your future, but I have to agree with your assessment of the situation. I'm inclined to think they won't be willing to ignore what happened, either. They may be staying quiet so they don't ruin all the good press Voyager has been getting. Or maybe so there won't be any claims of a tainted jury if they decide upon a court martial. I'm afraid you're right. It's the most likely explanation for the stonewalling I've been getting. And now I know the real reason you stopped being an ensign. I couldn't understand why coming onto another ship would make any difference in your rank. I'm glad Captain Janeway was smart enough to reinstate you as an ensign, "official rank" or not!   
  
Marla, we know you. There's no way you would have done the things you did on the Equinox if you hadn't been ordered to do them. Don't make excuses for your officers. I'm glad that Captain Ransom did what he did to save you at the end, but even if your crew had to find a place to live in the Delta Quadrant, it would have been better than putting you through the hell he did on that journey. And now he's safely dead, while the five of you will have to face the music. I'll never forgive him for that. And that XO of yours -- the less said about him, the better!   
  
We're glad you're okay and on the way home to us. We long to see you again, but we can be patient, knowing we'll see you again someday. The journey home will be a long one, though, so don't be afraid to live a little along the way. Harry Kim sounds like a very nice young man (and yes, you're right. I knew all about him from the newsvids long before you wrote me). I met his parents at the last Voyager gathering, you know. They were very interested in talking to Mom and Dad and me. I have a hunch they may have had a letter talking about you from a certain someone, you know? I don't think you need to spend a lot of time worrying about how becoming involved with you will affect Harry's career. After all, you have lots of time -- twenty years, at least, until you get home, right? Lots could change before then. Have faith.   
  
We miss you, Marla, and we love you. We will stand by you no matter what happens. Just take care of yourself! We'll face tomorrow when it comes.   
  
Love always,   
Kaylyn   
  
  
^*^*^*^*   
  
  
She'd been saving this one for last. Something to look forward to at the end of   
a long Delta Quadrant afternoon. The letter from Daeja Thev had been unsettling   
to say the least, and had stayed with her long after she had finished reading   
it. Dae had raised issues that were going to have to be addressed sooner rather   
than later, especially if B'Elanna was successful with her warp core project.   
She knew she would have to face them. Perhaps she'd discuss some of it with   
Chakotay after dinner.   
  
The letter from Mr. hyphen hyphen Smith Jones -- or whatever his name was,   
had been annoying. She was going to have to respond to it, and she was going   
to have to deal with the Doctor and his constant quest for fame and fortune.   
And of course, the issue of his sentience, rights and privileges was going to   
rear its head once again.   
  
She sighed. Ah well, in the general scheme of things it was a minor irritation,   
she supposed. She would deal with it. Tomorrow.   
  
Janeway picked up the PADD that had been lying temptingly within reach on   
the corner of her desk all afternoon and headed out of her ready room. It was   
almost dinner time, and tonight, as they did each "Letter Day," the crew would   
congregate in the mess hall, gathered together in camaraderie and hope -- those   
who had not received any communication from home looking to share some   
of news the stories, and general warmth generated by those who had. She   
wasn't sure how or why the tradition had started, but she was glad that it had.   
She always made sure that she spent a good portion of the evening mingling   
with her crew.   
  
Tonight, as she had hoped, she was a bit early. The afternoon shift was not   
quite over, and except for Harry Kim and Marla Gilmore in the far corner of the   
room, the mess hall was deserted. Even Neelix was nowhere in evidence. She   
made her way over to a replicator on the far side of the room.   
  
"Coffee, Janeway blend nine." she instructed the machine.   
  
"No. Belay that order." Janeway paused for a moment and then smiled to   
herself."Make that a hot chocolate. Swiss blend. With marshmallows."   
  
The replicator activated itself and within seconds a large mug appeared.   
Janeway picked it up and carried it, along with the PADD to an easy chair   
under one of the wide portals that dominated the room. She settled herself   
down, took a deeply satisfying sip of her chocolate, activated her PADD,   
and began to read.   
  


From: Mrs. Gretchen Janeway   
Indiana, Terra 1123647 Sector 001   
To: Captain Kathryn Janeway, Commanding Officer   
U.S.S. Voyager NCC-74656 Stardate: 54678.6   
  
Dearest Kathryn,   
  
How are you doing, darling? I hope you've been well since your last letter.   
  
Speaking of which, Kathryn, before I forget, I'd like to tell you that there is no need for you to gloss over your recent activities, or attempt to sugar-coat them in some way. Obviously, I don't expect you to go into full detail in your messages home, giving tactical data from battles or other classified information, but at the same time you shouldn't feel that you have to protect me by omitting important events. I know as well as anyone (maybe better than most civilians) what a career in Starfleet entails. And that's under normal circumstances. Twenty-five thousand light years from the Alpha Quadrant, the risks are even greater. I accept that; I'm not going to tell you, however, that I _don't_ worry about you. Of course I do. In a way, it's even worse the second time around. Having given you up for dead once, I'm understandably not eager to lose you a second time. But, as before, not knowing what's going on is much worse. You don't need to shelter me, Kathryn. At any rate, it's an exercise in futility, as Owen, God bless him, has been keeping me fully apprised (well, as much as possible within the limits of security) of what's been going on aboard Voyager.   
  
I can't even begin to tell you how frightened I was when I heard about your latest confrontation with the Borg. Despite the recent Dominion War and the devastation it caused, the word 'Borg,' more than any other, strikes fear in the heart of the average Federation citizen. Death is one thing, but the thought of assimilation is far, far worse. If I understand the reports correctly, it appears you and your wonderful crew have gone a long way toward neutralizing that threat. Permanently. But what it must have cost you...   
  
Anyway, on to more cheerful topics. Phoebe and family were just here for a long weekend. Kathy is a constant joy and pleasure, but she has the energy of an unrestrained warp core. I'm not as young as I used to be, and keeping up with my three-year-old granddaughter is not easy. To compound matters, I told her parents to go off and take some time for themselves. So the last day of their visit, Kathy and I spent a very enjoyable morning at the pool at the community center, then did some baking in the afternoon. (She shares the family affinity for caramel brownies, so this was a necessary activity.) I think she had a good time. I know I did, and as of this writing, most of the surfaces in the kitchen and living room are no longer sticky.   
  
Work is going along as usual. My latest project is taking up huge chunks of my time, more than I'd expected when I was first approached by the Rockefeller Institute a few months ago. Most likely it's because this is the first time in a long while that I'm involved in a collaboration, not a solo effort. Dick Braxton, the nominal head of the project, is one of the leading lights in the field, but the man's ego would fill a ten story office building. I think the rest of us spend as much time soothing his ruffled feathers as we do charting the direction of research and compiling data. Then again, I'm sure I haven't exactly endeared the Janeway name to him, either. We've had our share of run-ins from day one; although I try to pick my battles, some clashes are still inevitable. I'm still very enthusiastic, but I think I'll be happy to get back to my regular duties as chairman of the department of biostatistics at the University on a full-time basis.   
  
In your last letter you asked for some local news. Not much has been happening. Sorry. The big story making the rounds recently is that Old Man Peterson is getting married again. Before you ask, yes, he's in his late 90's (at least), and this will be wedding number seven. I think. It's hard to keep track, especially considering that neither of his last two marriages lasted much longer than the Federation-Cardassian Alliance. No word about his intended, other than a rumor that she's from off-world. Oh, I ran into Adele Johnson the other day and she told me Mark and his wife were planning on coming for Thanksgiving. They're living in San Francisco, as Mark is still with the Questor Group, and they have a lovely little boy. I think he's around two years old now. Adele also asked how you're doing (as if monthly Voyager updates weren't a regular feature on the news broadcasts, but I suspect she was interested in news of a more personal nature) and sends her warmest regards to you.   
  
Speaking of reminders from the past, there was one other thing I wanted to bring up. Kathryn, I was a little surprised by your reaction to the news that I'm thinking of selling the cabin up by Lake George. No, financial considerations have nothing to do with it. The main reason is that it's been years since any of us have been up there for an extended period. I just don't have the time these days, it seems, and Phoebe never had quite your interest in sailing. Maybe when Kathy's a bit older, but in the meantime, the only people who have been getting any use out of the old place have been some of the more distantly related cousins, in particular Martha's granddaughter Barbara. She and her family have regularly gone to the lake for a few weeks each summer over the past few years, so when she asked me about transferring the title, I thought it was a good idea. It would still be in the family, and therefore we'd probably still be able to use it whenever we wished. But if you feel _that_ strongly about it, Kathryn, then by all means, I'll tell Barbara no.   
  
This is getting a bit lengthy, so I'll end by saying that I miss you, dear, and I hope that all is going well for you. And I pray that you will be home so you can visit 'your' cabin in person very soon. Owen hinted that between the Pathfinder scientists and your talented chief engineer, this may become a reality and not just remain a dream. I certainly hope so.   
  
Take care of yourself, Kathryn.   
  
Love,   
Mom   


\---------  
  
It was a thoroughly satisfying letter and well worth the wait. She was pleased   
that her mother was willing to reconsider letting go of the cabin. And she could   
just picture her and her niece loose in the kitchen. She smiled at the thought.   
  
"Good news, Kathryn?" Chakotay settled into the chair beside her.   
  
"Just home news, Chakotay," she replied. "My mother writes such wonderful   
letters." She turned to face him. "And I still want to know what was so funny   
about your letter." She grinned as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I   
have my ways of finding out about these things." She said. "And you know I don't   
like secrets!"   
  
"Tom, B'Elanna!" Chakotay jumped up in relief. "Did you hear from Reg?"   
  
"I did." B'Elanna answered. "And it's looking good. And Chakotay, I need you to   
make a change in the duty roster..." They moved off towards the center of the   
mess hall, B'Elanna gesturing enthusiastically as they went.   
  
More and more crewmembers, senior staff as well as below decks personnel were   
flowing into the room. Neelix was in his element, serving drinks, dinner, snacks and   
special orders. He had co-opted several extra helpers for the evening, including   
Naomi and Icheb, both of whom carried out their duties with pride and efficiency.   
  
Kathryn Janeway watched with satisfaction as her crew met and mingled. They   
were indeed a family, she thought. They had been to hell and were on their way   
back -- together. The letters from home that they had received today were a bonus   
that she knew just added to their resolve and strengthened their determination,   
another step on their long trek across the Delta Quadrant towards home.   
  


*^*^*^*^   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Kaylyn Richardson to her sister Marla Gilmore--jamelia116
> 
> From Gretchen Janeway to her daughter Kathryn Janeway--Rocky_T

**Author's Note:**

> All the usual disclaimers apply. Paramount owns all;, we just wish we did.
> 
> Next Up: "Countdown," by Christina and Sara. With all systems ready to go, it's time for Voyager to go home!


End file.
